


Dare Not Speak

by RockAndAHardPlace



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Requited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockAndAHardPlace/pseuds/RockAndAHardPlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Childermass is dead. And Segundus dares not speak of what this loss has done to him. </p>
<p>"He must act as though nothing was amiss, as though Childermass’ death was a shame and not a tragedy. He must seem completely indifferent, yet suffer the loss of that person whose existence had become his entire happiness."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title refers to the line "the love that dare not speak its name" from the poem "Two Loves" by Lord Alfred Douglas. 
> 
> I'll be completely honest about the fact that I have put absolutely zero research into this. So historical accuracy might not be on point! But then again, this is a story about magic. :)

Segundus heard rather than felt his knees connect with the floor. His breath burst out of him and he wondered faintly if he was expiring from shock. The silver bowl tumbled from the table and landed straight on his hand, yet the pain was nothing.  


Dimly, he could hear voices. The door to his study burst open and several pairs of feet came into view. Someone was speaking. It was like he was underwater. He could understand nothing.  


“Mr. Segundus?” Slowly the words began to register. “Mr. Segundus, sir. What on earth has happened?”  


He looked up at Mr. Honeyfoot’s kind, broad face.  


“John Childermass is dead,” he whispered, and knew no more. 

* * *

When Segundus woke the sun was shining brightly outside his window.  


_Why am I sleeping in the middle of the afternoon?_ He sat up slowly. The movement attracted the attention of Mr. Honeyfoot, who was sitting nearby poring over a newspaper.  


“Mr. Segundus!” Honeyfoot cried, folding the publication. “You’re awake. My dear sir, is it really true?”  


“True?” Segundus frowned. “What do you speak of?”  


“Mr. Childermass,” said the older man. With a brutal jolt, Segundus remembered. His blood turned to ice and he slumped back against the pillows.  


“Oh dear. Let me bring you some tea.” Honeyfoot hurried from the room.  


Surely he had been wrong. His spell had failed—after all, Segundus had always been a weak magician. He rushed to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that ensued, and cast about himself furiously. There. He always kept a silver bowl in his room.  


Segundus snatched it up. He poured it full of water from his pitcher. Drawing a deep breath, he performed the spell.  


Mr. Childermass was not in England, in Europe, or in Faerie.  


With a start, Segundus realized that his face was wet. He seized a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheeks, but somehow it didn’t much seem to help. He heard sobbing, then understood suddenly that it was coming from him.  


He had to stay calm. He had to stay calm. Mr. Honeyfoot would be back here any moment and by that time Segundus must have control.  


Because, of course, no one must know.  


Segundus closed his eyes and imagined that he was reaching into his own chest, hands sliding in smooth and slow. He felt himself grasp the warm, wet, pulsing object that was his heart and he slid it carefully out. He imagined placing it in his desk drawer and locking the key.  


_Good,_ he told himself. _Good, now get up._  


He staggered to his feet. Someone was speaking again, someone was outside in the hallway. He would have to explain. And he mustn’t weep.  


Segundus took a deep breath. 

* * *

The watching had truly been innocent at first. Childermass left to retrieve Vinculus, who had made one of his (many) escape attempts. And Segundus, fearful that they might lose the King’s Book, cast a spell to see if Childermass had found the old street magician.  


His magic produced an image of the two men sitting in a pub. Vinculus was demolishing a pork pie with alarming rapidity. Childermass was brooding over a pint of ale. It occurred to Segundus that he had never before had the opportunity to watch Childermass for so long before. He found it rather fascinating. The man’s face was so… not handsome, yet intriguing. Striking. His eyes were so dark and mysterious. The way he slumped against the table showed how tired he was. No doubt he had not slept for fear of letting the Book escape once more…  


Segundus reached out to touch Childermass’ face and his fingers broke through water. Startled, he drew back. How long had he watched the other man for? A glance at his pocketwatch showed that it had been almost an hour.  


“No matter, no matter,” Segundus murmured to himself. After all, he was concerned for his-not friend, exactly, but acquaintance. Yes. That was it. And he wished to ensure that Vinculus was recovered. That was all.  


Convinced, Segundus went about his day as usual. And all was well until Childermass’ return. It was late at night and the household had gone to sleep. Segundus, however, became caught up in his biography of Jonathan Strange and lost track of time. The sound of the rain was soothing, mesmerizing…  


He had almost fallen asleep at his desk when a loud banging woke him with a start. Segundus hurried down the stairs and unlatched the door.  


“Mr. Segundus.” Childermass nodded at him and shoved Vinculus inside. Both men were drenched. They looked as though they’d been bathing with all of their clothes on.  


“Oh my. You must be freezing cold! Here, gentlemen, let me stoke the fire.” Segundus hurried ahead of them into the kitchen. He prodded at the warm, low fire with an iron then began making tea.  


“Thank you,” Childermass said, shrugging off his coat. He draped it over a chair, proceeding to remove his waistcoat and cravat as well. Segundus watched, wide-eyed. Childermass’ shirt clung to him tightly, the wet fabric accentuating his muscular body.  


“Enough of that!” Childermass snarled, and Segundus gave a start. He went limp with relief a moment later when he realized that Childermass was addressing Vinculus, who had helped himself to some brandy.  


The two began to bicker as Segundus brought them their tea. He could not shake the strange feeling that he was a naughty schoolboy who had been spared a much-deserved punishment.  


He didn’t notice he was staring again until Childermass turned to him. “Is something amiss?”  


“Oh.” Segundus shook his head furiously. “No. No, I simply, I was thinking you must be ready to sleep. I am certain your journey has been an exhausting one.”  


“It has.” Childermass treated Vinculus to another withering glare. “I believe I shall retire. I am warding the house, Vinculus, and if you attempt to escape again I will know.”  


The street magician responded to this with an inventive stream of profanities. This accomplished, he stomped up the stairs as loudly as possible. Childermass rolled his eyes expressively.  


“I should skin him,” he muttered. “Then it would be much more convenient to consult the Book, and I need not traipse about the countryside after that miserable fool.”  


Segundus laughed. “Perhaps John Uskglass would be upset if his book was damaged,” he suggested.  


“I would be very careful,” Childermass said darkly. He gave a massive yawn and got slowly to his feet. “Good night, Mr. Segundus.” He picked up his and Vinculus’ teacups.  


“Oh, I’ll wash those,” said Segundus hurriedly. “You must be tired. Go on.” It was only as he began to clean the cups that he realized Childermass was giving him an odd look.  


“What?” he asked self-consciously.  


“Nothing. Only, I can’t remember ever being fussed over so much.”  


Segundus flushed, but he saw that he was not being mocked. Childermass’ brow was furrowed, and his arms hung awkwardly at his sides. As though he was not sure what to do with them.  


_He is used to being a servant,_ Segundus reminded himself. _Even if he’s never really acted like one._  


“Everyone deserves to be treated with care when they need it,” he responded, staring at the teacups he was drying. Suddenly he found it difficult to meet Childermass’ gaze.  


The other man cleared his throat. “Yes. Well, um. Thank you.” These last words were mumbled softly. It was painfully clear that Childermass was unused to having anything to thank others for. Segundus felt a rush of pity. Despite the bullies he’d suffered in school, despite the mortifying comparisons between his brothers’ abilities and his own failings, he’d always had others to care for him. His mother, Mr. Honeyfoot. Segundus had never been alone in the way that Childermass so clearly was.  


“Think nothing of it,” said Segundus, and he smiled warmly at the other man. Childermass nodded and left at last for bed. 

* * *

He worried about Childermass. Surely this was perfectly natural, Segundus assured himself. After all, they both resided at Starecross—well, when Childermass was not out wandering the countryside. And they both sought to further the cause of English magic; Segundus with his school, which (if all went well) would open in a year, and Childermass with his translation of the King’s Book. They were colleagues. Surely it was perfectly natural to worry about a colleague.  


Yet more and more, whenever Childermass was gone Segundus felt compelled to watch him with magic. He was constantly fearful that something might happen, that the other man was in danger. Finally, he could no longer lie to himself about the way he felt. He had firmly determined never to act on his affections, however.  


And then that morning he had cast the spell to see Childermass. All his very worst fears had come to pass. 

* * *

“Pass the toast, please, Segundus.”  


“Oh, certainly.”  


“Thank you.” Honeyfoot selected a piece and began to cover it liberally with jam.  


Segundus took a deep breath. He must act very natural. “Mr. Honeyfoot,” he began as airily as he could manage. “I would very much appreciate your opinion.”  


“Certainly,” said his friend, looking up from breakfast. “How may I help you?”  


“When I cast the spell to locate Mr. Childermass I could not find him in England, in Europe, or in Faerie.” Segundus was proud of how still his voice was. “But shouldn’t the spell reveal his location even if he were-dead?”  


Segundus forced himself to take a sip of tea. He must not show how much the question meant to him.  


Mr. Honeyfoot considered for an excruciatingly long time. “I suppose I might expect it to,” he conceded finally. “But after all, Mr. Childermass left us only two days ago. He has not had time to travel anywhere besides England or Faerie. No, I regret to say it, but I believe he must be dead.”  


“I understand you perfectly, sir,” said Segundus. He had to replace his teacup in its saucer, for he was worried he might break it and cause a scene.  


“A great shame.” Honeyfoot sighed. “Whatever his faults, he proved to be a good man in the end. I hope he is at peace now.”  


“Yes.” Segundus nodded. “Yes, I quite agree.”  


Honeyfoot returned to breakfast. Segundus returned to shredding his toast.  


The world was going on as normal. As though nothing was wrong. As though they had suffered no great loss.  


The day before Segundus had known to hide his tears. But he had not fully grasped how excruciating his life would now be. He must act as though nothing was amiss, as though Childermass’ death was a shame and not a tragedy. He must seem completely indifferent, yet suffer the loss of that person whose existence had become his entire happiness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funeral. And lots of roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the warm welcome!!! The JSMN community is clearly awesome. :) 
> 
> The poem I quote is "Married Man's Song" by Al Purdy. Obviously, I have as little claim to it as I do to "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell."

Once more a great commotion woke him. Someone was banging at the door. 

Segundus’ eyes snapped open. This time he remembered right away, and this time he knew. 

_He’s come back,_ he thought. _Who else would show up at this hour? I was wrong. He isn’t dead, after all. He’s come back to me, and all is set to rights._

Segundus leapt to his feet and seized a dressing gown. He flung it about his shoulders as he sprinted down the stairs, passing Mr. Honeyfoot, their housekeeper Mrs. Smythe, the maid. With shaking hands he unlocked the door and threw it open. 

“Oh.” The breath blew out of him. “Oh. Sir, I-”

“Let me in, Mr. Segundus.” Vinculus shouldered past him. “I have had an ill journey.” He ignored the others’ questions and moved to the kitchen. 

“Whatever has happened?” Mr. Honeyfoot demanded, following. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Vinculus helped himself to a bottle of wine. No one stopped him. He yanked the cork out with his teeth and spat it into a corner. Mrs. Smythe stiffened, but she said nothing. “I am unharmed, but I bear ill tidings,” the Book continued. “Childermass is-”

“Dead,” Segundus interrupted harshly. Vinculus flinched. 

“Aye,” he said. “You already knew?” 

“The four-point spell,” Segundus whispered. “I was worried about the two of you.” 

“We all were,” Mr. Honeyfoot agreed. “Sir, what in God’s name happened?” 

“He wanted to find Strange and Norrell,” Vinculus replied after an impressive gulp of wine. “He was resolved, after the last meeting of the Learned Society of York Magicians.” 

Segundus remembered that meeting well. The old men were brutal in their disdain. They had called Strange and Norrell criminals, traitors. Childermass had listened with his jaw set, his fists clenched. 

“Well, he told me how he planned to do it,” Vinculus continued. “He thought if we took the King’s Roads we’d be alright. I wanted to come—more fool me,” the old man added bitterly. “I wanted to see the Roads. Childermass knew the two magicians would wish to read me. He agreed. 

“At first it was alright. We walked through the mirror like it were- like it were mist. The Roads were deserted and we were all alone. And finally we reached the Darkness, just like Childermass had said. 

“And that’s when it went wrong.” Vinculus tipped the bottle back again and frowned. He had emptied it. 

“What happened next?” Mr. Honeyfoot demanded. 

“The Darkness had changed.” Vinculus shuddered. “It was… almost alive, see? Like a bit of that faerie gentleman had lingered. And he were angry.” 

All of a sudden Segundus was freezing cold. He wanted desperately to silence Vinculus, not to hear what terrible fate had befallen Childermass. Yet he also was compelled to listen, his muscles frozen, his jaws locked. 

“It- attacked us, there’s no other way to put it,” said Vinculus. “And he shouted at me to run back down the Roads, to get through the mirror, any mirror. He said the King’s Book mustn’t be lost because of his foolishness. So I went,” said the old man, lowering his eyes and staring at the ground. He was obviously ashamed, yet Segundus could feel no anger. Childermass had been right. He had protected his King’s interests, even in the end. 

“I came out a mirror in me favourite inn,” Vinculus continued. “Only a day’s ride from here, but I had no horse. I came as fast as I could.” 

“You did right,” Mr. Honeyfoot whispered. He cleared his throat. “You did right, sir. And you have had a harrowing journey. You must sleep. We all should,” he added. 

Segundus nodded and followed the others to the door, though he knew already that he would sleep no more that night. 

“Wait.” It was spoken so quietly he half thought he had misheard, but Vinculus curled a hand about Segundus’ wrist and he came to a halt. He waited with the Book until the others had proceeded back to their beds. 

“What is it?” Segundus whispered. 

“He gave me a message for you.” Vinculus sighed. 

“What message?” Segundus’ heart attempted to batter its way out of his chest. 

“He said to tell you… ‘Farewell.’”

Segundus gave himself a moment to recall how to breathe. “That’s all?” he asked finally. 

“Aye.” 

The King’s Book gave him a short nod. There was an odd look in his eyes, a look that Segundus chose not to call pity. 

“Oh,” he said, and sat. “Ah. Thank you.” 

Vinculus hesitated, as though he might speak further, but he only sighed. “Goodnight, Mr. Segundus.”

* * *

Segundus dreamed of roses. Trellis roses, wild roses, hothouse roses, tea roses—they unfurled themselves from a lacework of green shoots and curled delicately about his calves. 

Segundus shook them off and cast about himself. He was in a dark field, the edges of which blended into a starless sky. Something pulled him off balance and he looked down. The roses had caught hold of him again. And they were still growing… 

Every muscle tense, Segundus tried to step forward. He was only able to go a couple paces before the stems prevented all movement. Minuscule thorns pierced him. On every side a wall of blooms grew taller. It looked like a precious tapestry picked out in jewel-bright threads of yellow, ivory, coral, pink, scarlet, and vermilion. 

More thorns clawed at his flesh and he forgot what it felt like to be free of pain. Branches compressed his chest and he could not draw a breath. The slightest movement was excruciating. 

The roses swelled larger and larger, crowding in on him. Their perfume intensified. Underneath the sweet smell there was something rotten, and Segundus gagged. The smell grew stronger and still the blossoms smothered him. He opened his mouth to cry out and he choked on something tough. A green shoot emerged from his mouth and formed a bud. It burst open, revealing a rose red as a virgin’s blush. The flowers pressed in on him and he could not fight, could not scream, he was trapped and he would never get out-

He woke.

* * *

“Are you quite well, Mr. Segundus?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Segundus forced himself to smile at Mr. Honeyfoot. “I slept poorly, that’s all.” 

The older man nodded sympathetically. “You always were a kind young man,” he said. “The sufferings of others weigh on you so heavily. We will send him off properly, my friend.” 

“Yes,” said Segundus. “Yes, you’re right.” 

He straightened his black waistcoat as an excuse to do something with his hands. 

“Well,” said Honeyfoot. “Well, we should get going.” 

They were a pitifully small procession. The priest, Honeyfoot, Vinculus, the maid Elinor. And Segundus. Mrs. Smythe had remained in the kitchen to prepare a meal for their return. 

They had chosen a quiet hill not too far from Starecross. The priest, who had graciously agreed to ride out on short notice to perform the ceremony, began. He spoke solemnly the same words he’d repeated many times. 

_This is not right,_ Segundus thought, but he remained silent. 

They had no body to inter, of course. Segundus and Honeyfoot had hastily made a tombstone with magic. It was a rough affair of plain grey stone, and it said only “John Childermass.” 

The ceremony was short. They returned to Starecross with the priest, who had been invited to dinner. 

Segundus was silent as they ate. He toasted Childermass with the others and retired early for bed. He did not undress. He sat unmoving by the window watching the sky deepen and darken. Finally, when a crescent moon had risen over the fields he rose and crept soundlessly outside. 

It was a chilly November night, but he did not feel the cold. Segundus’ feet led him right to the grave and he stared at the carved words “John Childermass.” In the dim moonlight they already looked weathered with time. 

He had come at night so he might say whatever he wished, but Segundus found he could not put his loss into words. He could not even weep. All his nerves and muscles and bones had turned to stone and he felt a stone’s grief. Ancient and enduring. Silent. 

Segundus felt his heartbreak rise through him and his magic met it. They joined. His grief pushed its way from the earth and slowly green shoots sprouted, forming a pale carpet of wildflowers. 

He thought he could hear a voice in the whispering of the wind, in the murmur of leaves on the trees. The voice spoke the words that he had not been able to find. 

‘We live with death but it’s life we die with  
in the blossoming earth where springs the rose  
In house and highway in town and country  
what’s given is paid for blood gifts are sold…  
light comes and goes from a ghostly sun  
where only the darkness may be remembered  
and the rest is gone’

_A fitting eulogy,_ he thought. _Yet not enough. Never enough._

Segundus stared at the flowers. They looked so soft and comfortable. Perhaps he would lie on them and sink deep into the earth. Perhaps such a sleep would finally erase his grief. 

The flowers were touched with gold, and he realised the sun was rising. He would be missed. Segundus turned back toward Starecross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't sure about the Purdy poem because it's contemporary and this story has a period setting. But Purdy seems to capture something very vital and poignant about nature, which just worked for the scene. 
> 
> Next chapter should be up in a couple of days! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Segundus finally breaks down.

_Two weeks earlier_

“Have you everything you need?” asked Segundus anxiously. 

“Yes, thank you.” Childermass smiled wryly. 

“You laugh at me, sir.” Segundus fiddled with his coat buttons. “Well, it is not surprising. I know that I have asked you several times.” 

“I am not laughing at you.” 

“Don’t lie to me, sir!” 

Childermass shrugged, his smile widening. “Well, perhaps I was laughing a little. But it was not maliciously meant.” 

“Good.” Segundus pressed a hand to his pocket, anxiously feeling for the packet inside. Did he dare…? 

“What have you there?” Childermass raised an eyebrow. Now Segundus had no choice. 

“Oh, it’s just a, um, well. For you.” He pulled the handkerchief-wrapped object from his pocket and offered it. His brow furrowed, Childermass took it. He opened the clean white linen to reveal a single black quill pen. 

“I made it from a raven’s feather,” said Segundus, shifting from foot to foot. Why had he been so bold? “I’m sure it writes abominably ill, but perhaps if you have nothing better to hand it may come in useful.” 

Remarkably, Childermass appeared at a loss for words. 

“I- it is a very poor gift.” Segundus attempted a laugh. He resisted the overwhelming urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers. 

“No,” Childermass managed finally. “No, quite the opposite. Thank you.” He rewrapped the quill and tucked it inside his coat. It rested, Segundus could not help but notice, over his heart. Childermass gave him a shaky nod and turned to go. He hesitated, however, and turned back abruptly. 

“Mr. Segundus, I-”

“Are we leaving?” Vinculus demanded, poking his head round the door. 

Childermass exhaled roughly. “Yes,” he said. 

“So soon?” Segundus demanded. He had quite wanted to hear what the other man had to say. 

“I’m afraid so.” Childermass frowned. “I will return as soon as I am able, sir.” 

“Right. Well. Are you sure you have-”

The Yorkshireman smiled. “I believe I do have everything, Mr. Segundus.” Now he was the one to press a hand to his pocket, feeling for the quill. 

“Good,” said Segundus. “Good. Then, travel safely.” 

“Thank you.” Childermass reached out, and they clasped hands. “I shall see you again soon.” 

Segundus felt the warmth of the other man’s palm, the calluses produced by hard work. He realized with a jolt that he must let go. 

“Yes,” he said, finally withdrawing. “I- until next time.” 

Childermass tipped his hat to Segundus. “Out,” he told Vinculus, who was watching with a twinkle in his eye. It was like he laughed at a joke no one else understood. 

And with that, Childermass was gone.

* * *

As everyone knows, one must conserve strength in order to perform hard physical work. Segundus discovered that the same was true with regards to mental strength. Going about his usual business as though nothing much was wrong exhausted him. He knew that if he appeared to mourn Childermass for too long the others might grow suspicious. 

_Imagine, if Mr. Honeyfoot knew,_ Segundus thought with a shudder. He would forever lose his friend’s good opinion. 

And so he worked hard. He read articles and books about magic. He worked furiously on his biography of Jonathan Strange. He planned living arrangements for the pupils and forced himself to eat at every meal. 

Yet he had not adjusted to the absence. During the discussion of the pupils’ rooms, Mr. Honeyfoot had asked what they should do with the second chamber at the head of the staircase. 

“But that-,” Segundus caught himself. _‘But that room belongs to Mr. Childermass!’_ he almost said. “But that room is quite small,” he replied instead. “And after all, we anticipate that our pupils will be gentlemen. They might expect more space.” 

“That is true.” Mr. Honeyfoot furrowed his brow. “Perhaps something on the third floor might be more suitable.” 

Twice Segundus made a note to ask the Yorkshireman his opinion on part of Strange’s biography. Absent-mindedly, he lingered after dinner one night, which was not unusual for him. Childermass had often arrived at Starecross quite late in the evening, and by waiting thus Segundus had been able to spend a few evenings alone with the other man. When he realized what he was doing Segundus cursed himself. He hurried up to his bedroom while fighting back tears. Thankfully, no one caught this lapse. 

All in all, however, Segundus thought he had done an admirable job of disguising his feelings. It had been almost two weeks since they learned of Childermass’ death and he had not cried in public. He had worked on all his projects as before. So it came as a surprise at dinner one evening when Mr. Honeyfoot asked him, “Mr. Segundus, you seem rather out of sorts. Tell me, is everything alright?” 

_Nothing will ever be alright again._

“Why, yes. I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly fine.” 

Honeyfoot raised an eyebrow. 

“The truth is,” Segundus sighed, “I- I believe I am getting a cold.” 

“Ah! That explains it,” said his friend. “I knew something was wrong. You work yourself too hard, my dear Mr. Segundus. You must take a break.”

“You are quite right. I believe I will retire now. Hopefully that will help.” 

Segundus forced himself to smile and left the room. But it was quite early and he found he could not face the prospect of sleep just yet. 

He was quite sick of dreaming of roses. 

Instead, Segundus went outside. There was an old stone bench in the garden that he often retired to when he was in need of tranquillity. However, that evening it was already occupied. 

“Oh,” Segundus said, “Pardon me.” And he made to walk away once more. 

“Never mind me.” Vinculus shifted aside on the bench and drew a great lungful of smoke from his pipe. “Have a seat, Mr. Segundus.” 

He could think of no polite way to say that he wanted very much to be alone. With a sigh, Segundus sat. 

“Can’t sleep?” Vinculus asked. “Me neither. Nightmares.” He shuddered. 

“I had expected you to run away now he isn’t here to watch you,” Segundus admitted. “May I ask why you haven’t left?” 

Vinculus sighed. “It is strange, isn’t it? I like having my liberty, no mistake. But I do have a duty to my king. Now he’s gone, you’re likely the gent to do his work. John Uskglass’ book is yours to read now.”

Segundus shifted in his seat. What a great deal of responsibility… 

Vinculus’ voice cut through his reverie. 

“That’s not what you’re really here to ask, though, is it?” 

“I-” Segundus took a deep breath. He would not admit anything outright. He would be vague enough that he could deny it if need be. Besides, Vinculus was thoroughly disreputable, and Segundus was the son of a gentleman. Nobody would believe the old street magician’s word over his. 

“I was wondering why Mr. Childermass sent me that message. ‘Farewell.’” 

“Mr. Segundus, I think you already know,” said Vinculus simply. With difficulty, Segundus looked him in the eye, and understanding passed between them. 

“But if he, that is, how can you be sure that he-?”

“Always thinking about you, he was. How many times did we miss supper because he wanted to rush back to Starecross? And he always talked about you. When he argued with them old magicians, he’d mention things you said to him. Obvious, it was.” 

“Oh.” Segundus stared at his hands. “Oh, I- well. I never knew.” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Segundus.” 

And at last his barriers broke. Pain rose in him like a tidal wave and he leapt to his feet. 

“Please excuse me,” Segundus stammered. He did not hear Vinculus’ reply, if there was one. He was already racing back to Starecross. 

Segundus managed to reach his room in time. Once he had locked and latched the door, however, the tears began in earnest. They quickly became a downpour. All the pain Segundus had tried so desperately to hold back these two weeks rushed out of him. He seized a pillow and pressed it to his face so the sobs would not be audible. 

Like an old, worn coat, he was finally unravelling. The damage, he knew, was irreversible. Somehow it made it all so much worse now he knew that Childermass had returned his affections. They might have been happy- no, not happy. Segundus had already been happy whenever the other man was around. But they might have experienced unparalleled bliss. Too late, too late. Why was he such a coward? Why could he not have told Childermass how he felt? He could have begged the man not to leave him. If his feelings were returned, surely his request would have been honoured. 

Someone knocked at his door. “Dinner, Mr. Segundus!” called Elinor. His throat was swollen with pain and he could not reply. The maid knocked again, a touch hesitantly. “Mr. Segundus?” 

“He’s not answering?” It was Mr. Honeyfoot. 

“No, sir.” Segundus heard her try the handle. “He’s locked the door.” 

“Let us leave him be. He has another of his colds, poor fellow. There will be bread and cheese if he wakes and is hungry.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Their footsteps receded and Segundus could breathe again. He raised his head from the pillow. Tears and snot ran down his face and he reached for a handkerchief. It was sodden in instants. 

He fell back across the bed. 

_If only I could bring him back,_ he thought fervently. _If only…_

But people could be brought back from the dead. 

“No,” Segundus muttered to himself. He had witnessed firsthand the mischief caused by such spells. The damage inflicted on Lady Pole had been appalling. He must not commit a similar crime. He would never trust a faerie with something as precious as Childermass’ life. 

_Is there any other way?_

Segundus thought back to every act of magic he had ever seen or read about. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

“D--- you, Mr. Norrell!” he whispered viciously. If only the man had not been so greedy, taking all the magical books for himself… The answer to Segundus’ predicament might very well lie in Hurtfew’s library, utterly useless to him. 

No, he must accept it. Childermass was gone. 

_It’s like a part of me has been ripped away,_ he thought. His very heart was missing, and he could never get it back. They were forever parted. 

Parted. 

Segundus sat bolt upright. 

Surely it couldn’t work. Surely it was too simple. And he had always been a terrible magician… 

But he could not help himself. He had begun to hope. 

Segundus leapt to his feet and rushed through the door that led to his study. He tore through the piles of paper on his desk, cursing himself for being so disorganized. Where was it? 

He wrenched open a drawer and more papers spilled out. He yanked the drawer from its slot and shook the papers all onto the ground. Segundus dropped the empty drawer and reached for the next, upending its contents as well. And as he stretched out a hand for another, something caught his eye… 

“There it is!” He seized the paper. “A spell to join together two objects which have been parted.” 

Surely it would never work. But he must try nonetheless. 

Segundus closed his eyes and whispered the spell. And as he did he addressed a silent prayer to John Uskglass, to England, to God, to any sympathetic spirit that might be listening. 

_Bring my love home,_ he prayed. _Bring him back to me._

And he cast the spell. 

Segundus perpetually doubted his own abilities, second-guessed his skills. Yet this time there could be no doubt. He felt the magic pulse from him, tasted it fizzing on his tongue. 

He thought he heard a raven cawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :) I can't say for sure when I'll be able to update (I'm about to move), but it won't be longer than a week! As usual, I value constructive criticism!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the spell.

Segundus opened his eyes. He could hear a rushing noise. Something black burst through his mirror and smacked into him. Hard. He landed flat on his back. 

“Oh!” he groaned. Something very heavy was draped over him. 

“John?” 

The deep voice rumbled through his chest like thunder. Segundus went very still. 

“Mr. Childermass?” he whispered. 

The heavy black shape on him stirred. And suddenly that beloved face appeared inches from his own. 

“John,” Childermass breathed again. 

“You- Is that really you?” 

Segundus couldn’t breathe. He reached up a shaking hand. He half-expected it to pass right through the other man, but it did not. Instead it cupped a warm cheek that was ragged with stubble. 

“It’s you,” Segundus said. “It’s really you.” There were tears leaking from his eyes. He hadn’t a hope of holding his feelings back anymore. 

“John,” said Childermass. “John, did you-”

But he was interrupted by Segundus kissing him. 

They broke apart an instant later. Segundus was already forming frantic apologies, but the look in Childermass’ eyes stopped him. Astonishingly, the other man looked close to tears himself. 

A sound burst through the silence. It was many sets of feet pounding up the stairs. Segundus and Childermass exchanged panicked glances and threw themselves to opposite sides of the room. They separated not a moment too soon, for Mr. Honeyfoot burst through the room followed closely by Vinculus and Mrs. Smythe. 

“We heard some commotion-” Honeyfoot began, then was struck dumb. Vinculus had the opposite reaction and let loose a string of curses that caused Mrs. Smythe to smack him. 

“Good heavens!” Honeyfoot cried. “Mr. Childermass, is that really you?”

“I believe so,” the Yorkshireman responded wryly. 

“How can this be?” 

“Ask him.” Childermass nodded at Segundus. “This is his doing.” 

“My good sir, what has happened?” 

Segundus hesitated, too overwhelmed to try and explain. Thankfully, Mrs. Smythe cut in. 

“I won’t have Mr. Childermass worn out with all this talk of magic,” she said, a steely glint in her eyes. “It’s obvious he has been through an ordeal. He needs some food and rest.”

“I am… I am very hungry,” said Childermass haltingly. 

“The gentlemen were just having dinner. I’ll prepare some for you as well.” Mrs. Smythe hurried for the door. “You can pester him about magic afterwards,” she added sternly to Honyfoot and Segundus. 

“You’re quite right Mrs. Smythe,” Honeyfoot conceded, though he sighed. “We should all finish our dinners. But are you feeling well enough to be up, Mr. Segundus?” he asked. 

“Oh.” Segundus stammered. “Yes, I feel- much better, thank you.” He made the mistake of glancing at Vinculus, who winked knowingly, and he flushed. 

They made their way down the hallway. Segundus walked as close to Childermass as he could without their actually touching. 

“You have been unwell, sir?” the Yorkshireman asked. 

“I…” Segundus glanced at the others. They were out of earshot. “I have felt most unwell, sir. Your absence has been- it has been very hard.” 

Segundus dared to meet Childermass’ gaze. The other man was wide-eyed, and he held his arms stiffly as though not sure what to do with them. 

“I regret that I have caused you pain, sir,” Childermass breathed. 

“You may atone for your actions,” Segundus whispered, “By never dying, and by never leaving my side.” 

The Yorkshireman laughed, then glanced rapidly up the passage. The others had just entered the kitchen. 

“I am afraid that I might have to leave you again.” He caught up Segundus’ hand. “But I promise it will not be for longer than a fortnight.” And he pressed a rapid kiss to it then let go and strode forward just as Mr. Honeyfoot came to enquire why they were taking so long.

* * *

“We thought you were dead, sir. Mr. Segundus could not locate you with the four-point spell. What on earth happened?” 

Mr. Honeyfoot had finally exhausted his patience. Childermass pushed away his now-empty third bowl of stew. 

“It was the fairy gentleman,” he said. “I was caught up in his magic that surrounds Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I believe—though I cannot be sure—that his darkness bound me in a place that was somewhere between other realms. Mr. Segundus could not find me in England or in Faerie because I was in neither.” He shuddered. 

“And how did you finally escape?” 

“That was not my doing,” said Childermass significantly, and he glanced at Segundus who flushed, suddenly finding himself the centre of attention. 

“I had the idea,” he said, “Of using the same spell we used to revive Lady Pole. The one to reunite two objects which have been separated.”

“How marvellous!” Mr. Honeyfoot cried. “My dear fellow, you are to be congratulated! But however did you guess that Mr. Childermass was not dead?”

This was the hard part. “I, er, had not guessed this,” Segundus hedged. “That is, I thought it curious that I could not locate him. And there seemed no harm in trying the spell.” 

“But which two objects did you seek to reunite?” Mrs. Smythe asked. 

_D--- it! Why must the woman be so sharp? I cannot very well reply ‘Mr. Childermass’ heart and my own’!_

“I-” Segundus glanced at Childermass, whose dark eyes sparkled with mirth. “I sought to reunite, um, Mr. Childermass with Starecross,” he invented wildly. “Because he visits here frequently, I thought perhaps that would be sufficient-”

“But how brilliant!” Mr. Honeyfoot exclaimed. “My dear friend, how clever of you! You must write of this magic in the London newspapers. I’m certain our fellow magicians would be delighted to hear of your accomplishment.” 

For the first time, Segundus rued his friend’s overly kind nature. He cast a pleading glance at Childermass, who thankfully took the hint. 

“I’m not certain that would be wise, Mr. Honeyfoot,” he said. “It might alarm future patrons of Starecross School to hear that Mr. Segundus performed such unprecedented magic. Much as we know him and admire him-” (here Segundus turned bright red) “-others might not interpret these actions well.” 

“Oh. I suppose that’s true. But Mr. Segundus, your exploits really ought to be celebrated,” said Honeyfoot, his face falling. 

“We can all celebrate ourselves, my friend,” said Segundus. “Besides, Mr. Childermass is back among us. That is more than I hoped for.” He made the mistake of looking at Childermass as he spoke, and the other man’s expression made his breath catch. 

“There will be no more celebrating tonight,” Mrs. Smythe cut in firmly. “Mr. Childermass has been through an ordeal and he requires rest.”

“You are quite right, madam.” Honeyfoot rose. “Goodnight to all. And may I say once more, sir, what a pleasure it is to have you back amongst us.” 

“Thank you.” Childermass smiled. “It is a great relief to be free.” 

Segundus glanced hopefully at the Yorkshireman, wondering if they might stay behind and speak a little further. However, Mrs. Smythe was watching sternly, and so he followed Honeyfoot up the stairs. He was a little disappointed, but nothing could silence his elation at having Childermass back once more. 

Segundus washed his face and changed into his nightshirt. He was turning back the bedclothes when he heard a quiet rap on the door. 

_It is him!_

Segundus cursed his own lack of foresight. He might have known that Childermass would arrange for them to speak somehow. Surely he looked foolish in his nightshirt. Yet if he did not answer quickly, the other man might leave. 

Segundus seized his housecoat and tied it on frantically before he opened the door. As he had expected, it was Childermass. Segundus opened his mouth to speak, but the other man shook his head. He gestured that he should be admitted inside. Segundus stepped back to let him pass. It was only when the door was closed and locked that Childermass spoke. 

“I hope I do not disturb you, sir.” 

“Not at all,” Segundus whispered. “I had hoped to speak with you further. I- I hope that I did not offend you earlier. I realize that I took something of a liberty-”

But he could not finish his sentence, for Childermass was kissing him. 

Segundus’ natural shyness—as well as his anxieties about his own nature—had sorely limited his romantic experiences. At first he could think only of worries; was Childermass disappointed in him? Was he doing an unsatisfactory job? Why was it that so many people considered kissing such an exciting activity? 

But then Childermass broached Segundus’ mouth with his tongue and Segundus moaned. He felt himself grow very heated and very tense, and suddenly the matter wasn’t so confusing after all. His back collided with the wall and Childermass crushed into him. The other man was warm, was hard yet soft. His hand slipped into the folds of Segundus’ housecoat and brushed against him intimately. Segundus moaned again, louder. 

“Not so loud,” Childermass whispered hotly, his lips grazing Segundus’ ear. He drew back a little until Segundus nodded. Then he set about pressing slow, agonizingly tender kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his lips. This was gentler now, and uncomfortably close to matters they had not yet discussed. Segundus felt tears prickle against his closed lids as unwelcome thoughts intruded into the moment: thoughts of what he had gone through, what Childermass had suffered, what they had almost lost. The tears slid hotly down his cheeks and Childermass, tasting them, stopped. 

“What is the matter?” he whispered. 

“I’m sorry.” Segundus covered his face. “I’m sorry. I have abominably ill timing.” 

“Perhaps you do not wish- I did not mean to misunderstand.” Suddenly Childermass had the appearance of a lost, lonely child. 

“You did not,” said Segundus. The other man’s surprising vulnerability gave him the strength to be open. “I want to. But I don’t think I can tonight.” 

Childermass nodded jerkily. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, though he did not relax altogether. He stepped toward the door. “Then I should-”

“Stay.” The word had left Segundus before he could think, and his breath caught. Was he too demanding, setting limitations upon their encounter yet asking for closeness? 

But Childermass only nodded and got into the bed. Swallowing, Segundus removed his housecoat and stepped forward. As he reached for the candle on his bedside table, however, he heard Childermass inhale sharply, as though swallowing a cry or bracing himself for something unpleasant. Segundus turned, and the other man looked away. 

“I have spent too much time in darkness,” the Yorkshireman admitted in a whisper. 

No doubt Childermass felt that the request was childish. He was worried he sounded like a little boy who could not sleep without a candle. But Segundus did not find it childish. Rather, he wondered whether as a boy Childermass had been afraid of the dark. Had there been anyone who cared? Had there been any means to buy a candle? 

He would live in darkness no longer. 

Segundus closed his eyes. He knew no spell, but he reached for the magic and it obeyed. When he looked at Childermass once more the man was bathed in a pale glow emanating from the walls. 

“There,” Segundus said softly. 

“You put yourself to a great deal of trouble sir,” said Childermass, his eyes wide. His hands shook slightly and he folded them beneath the bedclothes. 

“It is no trouble.” 

Segundus got into the bed. He found that he was trembling. Surely this was not really happening. Surely the man he’d wanted for so long was not really lying next to him now. 

He lay down stiffly. He could not look at Childermass for fear that it was not real. 

“What are you thinking, sir?” The other man asked. 

“I am afraid that this might not be real,” Segundus admitted. “I’m worried you might disappear.” 

Childermass chuckled. “I am here, sir.” He rolled closer and threw an arm over Segundus’ chest. He was heavy and warm. 

Segundus was reminded suddenly of how easily they might not have had this. He shuddered into the embrace and curled himself around Childermass. Perhaps if he got close enough they might never again be separated. 

“I love you,” he whispered, then froze. He’d said it too soon. 

_What on earth is the matter with me? He’ll decide he doesn’t want me after all-_

But Childermass’ arms tightened around him. Segundus could feel the other man’s heartbeat, which was suddenly frantic. “I am not used to such… that is, nobody has ever- what I mean to say is that I am not an easy man to lo- to care about.” 

_How can he say such things?_

Loving Childermass was as easy as breathing or blinking. It was as natural as the blueness of the sky or the feel of magic. It just was. How silly that Segundus had spent so much time fretting over his feelings when all this time it was so simple. Outside this room he might have to lie. But here there would be no more silence. 

“I love you,” Segundus said again. He kissed Childermass once then closed his eyes. He could feel the other man watching him, but he was not bothered and fell quickly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little longer! But happily, I have finished moving and my new place now has wifi! So next chapter won't take so long. Thank you for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more, Vinculus is an unlikely relationship counsellor.

Segundus felt his pillow stir. Perplexed, he grasped it tighter. 

“I’m afraid you must let me go.”

Segundus smiled, recognizing the voice. “John,” he murmured, opening his eyes. It was indeed Childermass in his arms. 

“It's almost morning,” said the Yorkshireman. “I must return to my room.” 

“Oh.” 

Segundus felt his good mood ebb a little. 

_Stop that,_ he told himself. _You have him back again. Be grateful for that._

Segundus kissed Childermass on the cheek. “As long as we’re not separated for long,” he said, and this time permitted the other man to leave his arms. 

Childermass quickly got up and began to dress. He had slept in his shirt and trousers, and Segundus felt self-conscious watching. He himself was in a far less proper state of dress. And Childermass’ clothes were loose enough to permit glimpses of his muscular arms, his taut chest. Segundus found himself cursing his own folly the previous night when he refused a more intimate encounter. 

Childermass dressed himself with disappointing rapidity. “I shall see you at breakfast, sir,” he said, not quite meeting Segundus’ gaze. 

“John.” 

“Yes?” The Yorkshireman paused, grasping the door handle. 

“No, I wasn’t calling your name. I meant- won’t you call me ‘John’ when we are together?” Segundus asked. A hard knot formed in his throat. Childermass still would not quite look at him. 

“You are right,” Childermass conceded, but he did not do as Segundus had asked. “Please excuse me.”

* * *

_Did I do something wrong?_

Segundus turned this question over and over in his mind during breakfast. He was distracted, and had to be prevented from spreading jam on his eggs and butter on his ham. 

What was it that Childermass had said to him? 

_I’m afraid you must let me go._

“Mr. Segundus, you must still be feeling ill,” Honeyfoot declared. “You appear quite unwell. Won’t you go take some rest?” 

At this question, Childermass snapped his head up. He finally looked at Segundus, something aching in his eyes. 

“I’m well, Mr. Honeyfoot, I assure you.” Segundus looked back at his plate, this time careful to apply the jam to his toast. 

“You don’t seem well, my friend. What do you think, Mr. Childermass?” Honeyfoot turned to the Yorkshireman. 

“Oh. I- I couldn’t rightly say.” As he spoke Childermass gave what seemed suspiciously like a gasp of pain and flinched over the table. He then glared at Vinculus, who widened his eyes innocently. 

“I think you ought to go to bed, my friend,” Honeyfoot pressed. Mrs. Smythe entered the room with another loaf of bread. When Honeyfoot applied to her for assistance, she agreed wholeheartedly that Segundus ought to return to bed. Unable to withstand these well-intended attacks, Segundus retreated. 

He was certain he would not sleep any more, yet sleep he did. After all, he had tossed and turned many nights, agonizing over the loss of Childermass. He therefore slept well into the afternoon. It was voices from outside that finally roused him. 

Segundus rose. His window, he saw, was still open. He had forgotten to shut it that morning. He crossed the room to do so now, yet halted when he realized that one of the voices he heard belonged to Childermass. 

“-fail to see how kicking me under the breakfast table is being considerate,” the Yorkshireman was saying. 

“Someone had to step in,” Vinculus retorted. “You’re making a right mess of things. Do you want Mr. Segundus to think you don’t want him?” 

“Quiet!” Childermass hissed. “What if someone hears you?” 

“Mrs. Smythe is baking Mr. Segundus his favourite pie,” said Vinculus dismissively, “and Mr. Honeyfoot is taking his afternoon walk. The maid is cleaning up after lunch. I timed it all perfectly.”

“Be that as it may, my affairs are none of your concern-”

“You saved my life!” the Book snapped. There was a drawn out pause. No doubt Vinculus had surprised them both with his honesty. 

“You’ve suffered because you saved me,” Vinculus continued at last. “Well, enough of that now. You’ve earned the bloody right to be happy! What’s stopping you?” 

Segundus realized with a start that he was shamelessly eavesdropping. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to close the window and withdraw. Yet he found himself instead creeping closer. He needed to know how the other man felt… 

“He says he loves me.” Childermass’ voice was barely audible. 

“He does love you.” 

“I know.” 

“Well?” Vinculus cried, his frustration almost equal to that of Segundus. “That’s good, innit? He loves you! Don’t you love him?” 

“Of course I do!” 

Segundus clapped a hand over his mouth, fearful of betraying his relief. Tears gathered in his eyes once more. It was alright. Everything would be alright. 

Now came the sound of grass rustling, as though someone was pacing. 

“I do, but… Oh, why am I trying to explain this to you?” 

“You won’t hurt him, you know.” Vinculus was astonishingly calm. 

“You don’t know that.” Childermass was pacing again. 

“You won’t hurt him as bad as he hurt with you gone,” the Book interposed. “I’ve never pitied anyone as much as I pitied him. Trust me,” he added, “I can’t rightly tell what he sees in you, ugly brooding fellow that you are. You’ll never find someone else half so devoted to you.” 

Childermass barked out a laugh. “That’s ever so helpful,” he said. 

“You’re welcome. Now, unless you need any more advice with romantic affairs, I’m off for a drink. ‘Tis thirsty work, giving counsel to fools.” Footsteps rustled through the grass once more, growing quieter and quieter. 

Segundus rose. He wondered if he had inadvertently discovered a spell for flight, for he felt utterly weightless. 

The stairs were empty, with no Honeyfoot or Mrs. Smythe to chide him back to bed. He slipped through the front door and out across the fields. 

Segundus smiled to himself. “I know you’re there!” A shadow detached itself from the scraggly trees and fell in next to him. 

“Where are we going?” Childermass asked. 

“You’ll see.” 

They crossed the fields, climbed the hill, and finally came to a halt. 

“I don’t want to leave it up,” said Segundus, looking at the tombstone. “It seems like bad luck.” 

“I didn’t know you were superstitious, John.” 

Segundus grinned. “I’m not superstitious. I’m just careful.” He closed his eyes. The earth here remembered him, still hurt from his sorrow. Now it rejoiced in his joy. A breeze picked up around them. Segundus felt his former pain like an old, worn tombstone. It was time to let go. 

He took it and scattered it with the winds, sent it through the earth and the water. Once more he was weightless. 

When Segundus opened his eyes, all that was left of the tombstone was a handful of round grey pebbles. The wildflowers, on the other hand, had grown so abundant that the two of them stood on a carpet of pastels pigments. 

“How much magic have you performed these past few days?” Childermass whispered. There was something strange in his eyes, something uncomfortably close to awe. 

“I suppose you inspire me.” Segundus smiled at him, and this time Childermass did not look away. 

“Are you still afraid, sir?” Segundus asked. 

“It is difficult to be afraid of anything,” Childermass said, “when one is in the company of a great magician.” 

“You jest, sir.” Segundus felt another stupid bright flush on his face. 

“I swear I am in earnest. And I’m sorry I was such a fool,” Childermass added, reaching for his hand. 

“Don’t make me try and live without you again,” Segundus said, stumbling closer. “I can’t bear it. Vinculus was right.” 

“Vinculus?” Childermass demanded. “Oh. Did you hear-?” 

Impossibly, Segundus’ blush intensified. “I- in fairness, I do believe Vinculus planned it that way,” he said. “He chose to have the conversation right below my window, after all. Please forgive me for eavesdropping.” 

Childermass laughed. “I suppose I should thank Vinculus. And I would forgive you for anything.” 

Segundus kissed him without fear. The magic in this place would shield them, he was certain. The trees, the flowers, the stones, the earth. They would make sure no one harmed them. 

“I don’t want to live without you, either.” Childermass ground the confession out between gritted teeth, his eyes still shut, as though it pained him to speak. 

“You will never need to.” Segundus held him close. How strange, he thought. He could be strong. He had never seen strength in himself before. He had always thought Childermass was the strong one. 

How easy it was when you were in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took a little longer than I wanted to! I'm sorry about that. Starting a new program is intense! Thank you everyone for your support, and I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> Just the epilogue left! :)

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued! Thank you for reading, and I welcome constructive criticism!


End file.
